Life's a Drag
by MLaw
Summary: Illya comes up with an unusual escape plan for him and his partner and Napoleon isn't happy with it. Pre-saga
1. Chapter 1

"You have got to be kidding!" Napoleon Solo blurted out as his partner shoved a salt and pepper wig on the American's head.

"It will be fine,"Illya assured as he readjusted the hair piece.

"I look like great Aunt Maude," Napoleon continued to protest.

"You do not have a Great Aunt Maude."

"Well if I did, this is what she'd look like. I can't do this...I have a reputation to uphold."

"Oh so you have no problem dressing me up like a woman...if you recall Barcelona."

"Well the circumstances warranted it chum but this…"

"Is the only way we will get out of here alive,"Illya finished the sentence."If it makes you feel more assured, I will be in drag as well."

"Oh that makes me feel soooo much better."

"Just sit still Napoleon and let me apply this base makeup, you do have a bit of a five o'clock shadow you know."

Solo glared at the Russian. "Get it over with please."

It took Illya about twenty minutes, applying foundation, powder, eye shadow, liner, brow pencil and the pièce de résistance... glossy cherry red lipstick. Napoleon eyed himself in the mirrior, puckering up for a second and blowing himself a kiss.

"Napoleon, you will forgive me for being a bit bewildered, but twenty minutes ago you were acting as if the world were ending."

"Hey, I can't help it...I make this look good."

Illya as always, rolled his eyes. "You will pass fine for an _older woman." _The Russian couldn't resist getting in a dig. "Just do not open your mouth unless you can speak several octaves higher, "Illya said dispassionately as he shoved a floral dress into Napoleons hands along with a pair of stockings and garter belts. "Put these on."

Illya gestured for his partner to vacate the chair and seated himself in front of the mirror, embarking on the same routine of applying makeup to himself. He grabbed a dark brunette wig, fluffed it a bit and turned his head left then right...inspecting the finished product.

"Well don't you look all sexy,"Napoleon sniped."How come you make me up like the old lady and you get to be the voluptuous one? I mean you look downright kissable."

"Do that and you will not live to see another day,"Kuryakin growled. He grabbed a simple blue frock and wiggled into it, stuffing the top with rolled up toilet paper to make his figure a bit fuller.

"Why didn't I get any stuffing?" Napoleon complained, looking at his flat chested frumpy appearance.

"You are the mother, and I am the daughter accompanying you," Illya answered matter of factly. He disappeared into the next room, returning with a wheel chair. "I borrowed this from the hotel, now you sit in it and I will wheel you out to the elevator."

For once it was to Illya's benefit to be a slightly built man, though there were parts of him that weren't so small, he snickered to himself. He had to search for shoes to fit his own feet and was able to find a pair of rather sparkly silver ones.

Illya added the ladies pumps to his ensemble, but they barely fit his size twelve feet. Not surprisingly, they were tight, but he could suffer with them for now; yet they made him wonder what sort of woman they belonged to. He used a throw blanket to cover up Solo's black shoes, though they could have passed for a pair of orthopedic footwear at a quick glance.

Napoleon tucked his special under the blanket, while Illya hid his in a matching shoulder bag.

"Ready Auntie Maude?" He snickered.

"That's mother to you. Tell me tovarisch, where the hell did you get all of this stuff?"

"I raided a few of the other guests rooms, it was quite easy."

"You know Illya, sometimes you scare me."

"Sometimes I scare myself," he winked, opening the door and wheeling the American out into the hotel corridor. They made it to the elevator and Illya pushed the chair in, turning it around to face the doors. The elevator stopped at the next floor and a man wearing a trench coat and hat stepped on. He had a leather brief case in his hand. Was he T.H.R.U.S.H or not?

He gave Illya the once over and winked at him. The Russian was actually flustered for a moment, and Napoleon seeing it, came to his defense.

"I'll have you take your eyes off my daughter if you please," he took a sharp tone using a high-pitched falsetto voice.

"Umm, sorry ma'am, I didn't mean anything by it, but your, ummm, daughter is quite a looker. If I'm not being too forward, maybe she might be interested in meeting me for a drink later in the hotel restaurant...perhaps dinner afterwards?"

"What do you do for a living sonny?"

"Well ma'am, I'm a stock broker on Wall Street."

"In that case..." Napoleon pushed.

"Mother! I...I can get my own dates, now please? You know we have a lot of appointments to keep!" Illya stuck his nose up in the air, acting completely miffed.

The man got off at the next floor, and finally the elevator reached the main floor. Both agents took a deep breath before the elevator doors slowly opened to reveal the busy lobby.

"Show time," Solo mumbled.

Illya pushed the chair forward, his eyes darting everywhere, watching for the T.H.R.U.S.H. goons waiting there for them. They passed the men, seemingly ignored until they reached the exit, and one of the Thrushmen stepped towards them. Napoleon took a firm grip on his gun, ready to shoot.

"Let me get that door for you ladies," he said, offering his help as the doorman was preoccupied with another hotel guest.

"Thank you dear," Napoleon said. "Your mother would be proud of you."

As they exited the hotel, the team of Solo and Kuryakin breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

As they reached the curb, Napoleon stuck his fingers in his mouth, letting out a loud whistle, quickly hailing a cab. That made the heads of a few passersby turn, amazed at such boisterous behavior coming from such a harmless looking old woman.

Napoleon stood up from the wheelchair, looking at a woman who was staring him down. "It pays to have a young verile boyfriend, it keeps one young" he said, not disgusing his voice."If you should ever meet a handsome man named Napoleon, make sure you enjoy his company, you'll never regret it."

"Come Mama, we must not bother the nice lady. Please Miss, forgive my mother she is…"Illya made the universal symbol for someone who was slightly crazy.

They quickly ditched the wheelchair and practically threw themselves into the back seat of the taxi as it pulled up curbside.

Illya called out an address, no longer disgusing his voice while ordering the driver to step on it; that brought a head turn from the cabbie, who suddenly realized the pretty brunette lady was a man, and the old lady with her...him was one too."

"Hey to each their own," the man gruffly said and hit the gas, peeling out as the taxi headed down the street; the driver weaving in and out of traffic like he was in the Grand Prix of Monaco.

The two top agents from U.N.C.L.E. looked each other in the eye, and proceeded to laugh their asses off...

"Nice job...Illya-ette," Napoleon chuckled.

"You did well too Auntie Maude, but I have not forgotten what you did in the elevator. You will pay and pay dearly my friend."

"Oh I wouldn't expect anything less of you...

_tovarisch. _Might I bribe you with a dinner at the 21 Club on Saturday? My treat of course."

There was a surprising moment of silence.

"Well?"

"I am thinking it over."

"Since when do you turn down a free meal, especially at a pricey restaurant?"

"I am debating whether I would prefer the Russian Tea Room."

"Oh?"

"I have made up my mind Napoleon. "Russian Tea Room for lunch...21 Club for dinner."

"What? Hey I'm not made of money you know."

"Yes I know. You still owe me fifty dollars from your last date with Wanda."

Solo had nothing he could say. His wiley Russian partner had trapped him...again. But seeing as how Illya's escape plan had worked flawlessly, the little incident in the elevator wasn't exactly the right thing to have done...still it was just too good an opportunity to have passed up.

"Fine partner mine. Done deal." Napoleon offered his hand in surrender. "Lunch at the Tea Room, dinner at the 21." It was a small price to pay for a successful escape. "And thanks Illya, it was a brilliant plan by the way."

Illya simply grinned...


	2. Chapter 2

Solo and Kuryakin arrived at Del Floria and after paying the cab fare...Illya of course, as Napoleon left his 'cash' in his trousers back at the hotel, it fell upon the Russian to do so. At first he pulled out the money, saying "Oops," realizing it was Soviet currency. He quickly stuffed it back into his shoulder bag. At least he had the forethought to put his wallet and cash in the blue shoulder bag he'd been carrying. He handed the driver the money along with a modest tip.

As they approached the short flight of stairs leading down to the entrance to the tailor shop. Napoleon reached his arm out in front of Illya, forcing him to come to an abrupt halt.

"We can't go into headquarters looking like this."

"Ah, the Solo reputation is at stake again," Illya politely but firmly moved his parther's arm out of the way.

"I for one do not care, so please let me by. My feet are killing me," he groused. He looked at Napoleon's face, seeing the utter dispair in his eyes. How could he not be sympathetic to his partner's dilemma. Solo's life revolved, no, was completely immersed in his relationships with women and how they perceived him.

Being in drag would would taint the man's mansculinity in their eyes perhaps. That would not do. Solo's love of women, and theirs of him was the one thing his friend had. Who was he to deprive Napoleon of that which he held….sacred?

"All right my friend, wait here. Give me a few minutes."

Illya hobbled down the steps and opening the door, the brass bell tinkled its welcome.

Napoleon waited patiently outside on the sidewalk above Del Florias, pacing slowly back and forth. He knew there was a security camera on him and he made a point of keeping his back turned to it.

Section V would know his face instantly, inspite of the disguise, and knowing those guys, the word about Napoleon Solo dressed in drag, much less as an old lady, would be out in no time along with an accompanying 8 X 10 glossy photo.

He spotted an older man with a cane walking towards him, yet Napoleon ignored the man, instead crossing his arms in front of himself and tapping one of his feet impatiently.

"Afternoon," the gentleman said, doffing his hat." Hmmm, you new to the neighborhood my dear. I haven't seen you before." There was a flirtatious undertone to the man's voice.

"Get lost pal," Napoleon said out of the corner of his mouth

"Why don't you have an interesting voice. I like that in a woman...a strong personality. Sounds like you can take care of yourself. Say would you be interested in having a cup of coffe with me across the street. I'm headed there now for a bite of lunch...or would you care to have lunch with me?"

"Look, what don't you understand about being told to get lost?"

The man held up his two hands in mock surrender. "Okay okay, message received...but if you ever change your mind, my name is Mike Dombrowski and I have lunch across the street every day around this time." He tipped his hat to Napoleon, and stepped out into the street, not looking.

A taxi blared its horn as it barreled towards the man.

"Look out!" Napoleon yelled. Not hesitating, he ran into the street grabbing Mr. Dombrowski, tackling him out of the way. The two tumbled to the road, bruised but safe.

"Wow, what a woman! You saved my life...how can I ever thank you?"

Napoleon stood up, offering his hand to the man, helping to his feet but Solo realized in the process that his wig had been knocked askew. "Aww what the heck," He grabbed the salt and pepper hair piece, pulling off his head.

"Oh…OH!" Dombrowski's eyes widened in surprise. "I had no idea."

"Now you know why I told you to get lost? I ummm, am an undercover cop and I couldn't have my cover blown." He figured this lie would work.

"Gee so sorry mister. Thanks again." Mike Dombrowski quickly disappeared down the street, apparently wanting to now skip his lunch.

Napoleon replaced his wig fussing with it a bit as he headed back across the street, sure now Security had seen the whole thing. He was done in for sure, and his life with the women of U.N.C.L.E. was now over. Then again, there were plenty of fish in the sea out there...so he could always date non-employees, no big deal. That thought brought a smile to his face. He suddenly realized how his little joke had made his partner feel...now regretting it even more.

Illya reappeared, dressed in his own clothing and carrying one of Napoleon's suits, and shirts on a hanger. He'd gotten the spare hanging in their office closet.

"Here. I have made arrangements for the security cameras in the tailor shop to go down for a fifteen minute maintenance check...in three-two-one. Now if you hurry, you can get into a dressing room and change. No one will be the wiser my friend."

"Thanks tovarisch, I appreciate it...maybe it isn't as bad as I first thought."

"What? Ten minutes ago you thought your world would end if you lost your reputation with the ladies."

"Weeeell maybe not, but still your idea with the cameras is a good pal, I appreciate the effort."

"Napoleon you now have thirteen minutes with which to change, I suggest a bit more alacrity."

"Oh yeah, right." Napoleon hopped down the stairs with a little spring in his step.

Illya remained there, shaking his head in confusion...not sure what had just happened.

.

When the Russian returned to Security, he found the men at the desk laughing and tittering like school children.

"What is so funny?"

"You gotta see this security tape from outside on the street in front of headquarters. Some old broad just save an old guy from being hit by a car, and what does she do? She tips her wig to him! Her hair underneath was real short and dark, but her wig was grey...weird. You should have seen the old guy take off down the street. Guess a tough old bird like that scared the heck out of him. Hmm, bird? Do you think she might have been a T.H.R.U.S.H. agent in disguise...like maybe a guy?"

Illya stood quietly, watching the tape and feigning interest. He tried not to laugh too much, and was much relieved for his partner's sake that no one recognized him. "Shame we cannot see the persons face. Just erase the tape at the end of the day, as it is of no use to us. No need to bother Mr. Waverly with this."

"Yes sir Mr. Kuryakin."

He headed straight to Waverly's office to make his report along with Napoleon, and meeting his partner outside the doors Illya made a comment.

"You were lucky my friend, your little act of braverly outside was caught on the security cameras but luckily your face was not clearly visible, so no one recognized you."

"Really? I was sure they would. I was wondering why I wasn't getting strange looks from anyone, or wise crack for that matter.

"Napoleon, your reputation is intact my friend."

"Hey thanks buddy for saving my butt for a second time today. And again, sorry for the joke I pulled on you in the elevator."

"As you have often said to me, 'that is what friends are for.' You are my partner and I will always have your back, even though I may cover it in some strange ways." He winked at Solo as the doors shushed open and together the two men stepped inside, side by side.


End file.
